


Two Times a Month

by dexstarr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Community: wizard_love, F/M, Het, Post-Deathly Hallows, Sex, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexstarr/pseuds/dexstarr
Summary: He’s the only one that visits her in Azkaban.





	Two Times a Month

**Author's Note:**

> _Harry Potter_ is not mine and no profit is made from this work. Written for the LJ community [wizard_love](https://wizard-love.livejournal.com). Event: 2011 Exchange.

The  _tap, tap_  of a wand rapped against the bars of her cell wakes Pansy from a fitful sleep, and she blinks owlishly at the figure standing by the door.   
  
‘Parkinson, get up,’ the guard says, her voice like a bullfrog’s rasp. ‘Your boyfriend’s here to see you.’   
  
Pansy hates this guard, doesn’t even bother to remember her name, but her appearance means that Draco is here. And, fastidious Malfoy that he is, he’s bribed the warden to have her cleaned up before a visit. This guard, despite her appearance and mannerisms, is talented at cosmetic charms, and by the time she’s done with Pansy, she’ll be like her old self.   
  
Not that Azkaban is the pit of despair and filth that it was when the Dementors ruled, but sea salt still crusts on everything, and Pansy’s forced to wear a shapeless sack instead of the sharply fitted robes that she — and Draco — prefer. The humid air tangles her hair and makes it frizzy, instead of the sleek black mane that used to hang halfway down her back.   
  
‘Now, Parkinson,’ the guard barks.   
  
With a sigh, Pansy heaves herself off her bunk — it’s stone, but at least covered with a thin mattress — and walks to the door. ‘I’m coming, damn you.’   
  
She may be in prison, and on some trumped up charge at that, but Pansy Parkinson is never going to change her attitude.   
  


*

  
Thirty minutes later the same guard shoves Pansy into a little meeting room, slams the door shut, and leaves with a mocking laugh.   
  
But Pansy doesn’t care, because she’s looking at Draco. She hasn’t seen him for two weeks, since his last visit, and she greedily drinks in the sight of him: the sleek blond hair falling into his grey eyes, the perfectly tailored suit, and the calm way he’s reading the paper. It’s as if he’s at home in Wiltshire, reading  _The Daily Prophet_ , sipping tea, and watching the peacocks stride about the gardens in the early morning sunlight.   
  
Pansy has dreams of doing that with him.  
  
And when he gets her out of here, like he promised, they will.   
  
Draco looks up from the paper and smiles when he sees her hovering in the doorway. ‘Pansy,’ he says, and she smiles at the happiness in his voice. It feels good to know that Draco misses her just as much as she misses him. Tossing the  _Prophet_  to the wood table, he stands and opens his arms in an invitation.   
  
She crosses the room in ten steps, and is in his arms in another. ‘Draco,’ she breathes into his ear, her arms rising automatically to wind about his neck. ‘I missed you so much.’   
  
His embrace is gentle and rough at the same time, in only the way that Draco can do, and Pansy presses her body against his. One of his hands moves slowly down her back as she tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging his head back so she can kiss his neck.   
  
‘Have you made any progress with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?’ Pansy asks, her lips still on his neck.   
  
Draco chuckles, and his hand finally reaches her arse, cupping it through the material of the dress he sent for her to wear today. It’s black silk jersey, too thin for the middle of winter, but she knows he likes how the fabric clings to her body. ‘We can talk about that later, love.’   
  
‘Have you even asked why they’re continuing to hold me? They arrested me on the flimsiest of charges—’ Draco cuts her off with a kiss, and Pansy and pulls back with an annoyed huff. ‘Draco!’   
  
‘Pansy, I’ve missed you so,’ he drawls, and she rolls her eyes. Draco must be desperate, but then he never did have that much patience when it came to sex. It was always his stress relief. Sometimes his eagerness makes her feel like a whore, paying for his help with her body.  
  
But it is comforting to her, as well, to be in Draco’s arms after being alone for so long. No one else comes to see her — not Daphne or Millie, certainly not her parents. Only Draco, twice a month. His visits are the one bright spot she has, and she looks forward to them, regardless of how she feels afterwards.   
  
Draco’s hand leaves her arse and travels down her thigh, his fingers seeking the hem of her short dress. Their mouths crash together as he rolls the fabric up, his long fingers as skilful with this as if he were mixing a fiddly potion, and Pansy moans against his tongue as the cold air of the room hits her bare skin.   
  
Draco, of course, hadn’t sent knickers with the dress.  
  
‘I want you,’ he says as he slips one of his thighs between hers, and Pansy rubs against his leg, the wool of his trousers soft against her folds. Pansy can smell herself, musky and warm against the chilly air, and she blushes, hiding her face in Draco’s neck even as she humps his thigh. Even if she hadn’t wanted to do this before, she does now — being round Draco brings this need out in her. It always has, ever since they first turned to each other when the stress of their seventh year became too much to bear alone.   
  
‘I see you missed me too, Pansy,’ Draco murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.   
  
Nodding, she sneaks one hand between their bodies, searching for the bulge in his trousers. With just as much expertise as Draco showed in rolling up her dress, Pansy undoes his fly, her fingers reaching into his satin boxers to pull out his hard cock.   
  
Suddenly Draco pushes her away, and Pansy falls against the table. Bracing herself with her hands on the wood, she arches her back, wriggling her bare arse in the air. With a growl, Draco grabs her hips, his fingers digging harshly into her skin, and then he slams himself inside of her. Pansy screeches, in pleasure and a little pain, as his length fills her completely in one swift push.   
  
It takes her a minute to adjust to Draco’s fast rhythm, but when she does, Pansy starts bucking against him, pushing back on his cock. She’s satisfied with that for a time, an undeterminable length of time, with the feel of him thrusting into her wetness, with the feel of his moist breaths on her upper back as he kisses her shoulder. But soon she wants more, but with her hands holding herself up, Pansy can’t reach down to touch herself.   
  
‘Please, Draco,  _please_ ,’ she begs, her voice rough with need. His knowing laugh sends a shiver down her spine, and Pansy’s eyes close when one of his hands slips between the table and her belly. In comparison to his hard strokes, Draco’s fingers are gentle and slow as he walks them down her stomach, down the curve of her hip, and finally,  _finally_ , down to her cunt.   
  
She cries out again when Draco’s forefinger rubs teasingly round the hood of her clitoris, before pushing under it to tap against her clit. Draco keeps moving his finger in the same way, with light taps and sometimes rolling the pad of his finger over her clit, as he continues to fuck her roughly. They’ve perfected this pattern over the years, and Pansy times her thrusts against him with the movement of Draco’s fingers, and soon they’re both close.  
  
Draco’s other hand lets go of her hip to cup her left breast, and Pansy arches her back again, pressing into his skilful hands and against his cock. When he squeezes her nipple, tugging it with just the amount of force Pansy likes, she keens low in her throat, her orgasm rippling through her body like a spell pouring out of a wand tip.   
  
‘Pansyyyy,’ Draco howls and her name echoes off the walls of the little room as he comes. His thrusts slow and then still, and his hands slip slowly off her breast and clitoris, and he places them on top of her hands on the table. He lays on top of her, his cock still inside of her cunt, and Pansy sighs happily, enjoying the closeness.  
  
When he pulls out, Pansy feels empty for a minute, but then Draco wraps his arms round her and pulls her to him. ‘Love you,’ he mumbles sleepily.  
  
‘Love you too,’ she says with a wistful smile. In a few minutes he will leave and she will go back to her cell, but Pansy will hold onto this moment until his next visit. It will get her through the long, sleepless nights, where her only company is the whistling sound of the waves.   
  
They stand like that for a few minutes, Pansy nestled in Draco’s arms, until a sharp rap on the door reminds them both that their time together is over.   
  
Draco disentangles himself from her with a groan and goes to gather his things; she’s never sure why he spreads papers out on the table, as if they’re actually going to do business instead of fuck, but Pansy supposes it appeals to his sense of order. As he goes to put  _The Daily Prophet_  in his briefcase, she asks, ‘Can you leave it? I never get any news.’   
  
‘Er — sure.’   
  
Tugging the hem of her dress down to cover her arse, Pansy plops in one of the beat-up wooden chairs and reaches for the paper, unfolding it so she can see the front page.   
  
**‘DRACO MALFOY AND ASTORIA GREENGRASS TO MARRY IN CEREMONY OF THE DECADE’**  
  
There’s a whole article, but the words swim before her eyes, swirling into an inky black mess, and the paper falls from her shaking hands.  
  
‘I — I’m sorry, Pansy. I didn’t want you to find out this way.’   
  
Pansy looks at Draco, disbelief on her face, and something snaps inside her at his words. ‘How did you want me to find out?’   
  
He flutters his hands in response, like one of his father’s agitated peacocks. ‘Er – I – I—’  
  
‘How long have you been engaged to her, Draco?’ Pansy asks darkly.   
  
‘S-six months,’ Draco says quietly.   
  
Pansy has been in Azkaban for six months and one week.  _A week. He waited a fucking week before replacing me with that Greengrass bitch._    
  
‘What am I? Your prison bit on the side? The entire time you’ve been promising to get me out you’ve been planning your wedding to that — that — _cow_.’ In her anger, Pansy stands up so quickly that the wooden chair falls over, and Draco cringes at the harsh clatter.   
  
‘Pansy, you know I love you. It’s just — my parents — they wanted me to marry—’  
  
She can’t believe her ears. He hasn’t learnt yet to stand up to his parents? He’s twenty-five, not  _five_. ‘What, did daddy threaten to cut off your allowance if you didn’t listen?’   
  
When Draco blinks rapidly, Pansy is stunned. She had meant her words as a jeer, but she had apparently hit upon the truth — Lucius had really threatened his son with the loss of his inheritance if he didn’t listen to daddy, and Draco had gone along with Lucius’s plan.   
  
‘Get out,’ she spits, her eyes flashing angrily, and Draco withers before her stare.   
  
‘Pansy,’ he whispers, trying to speak in his characteristic drawl but failing, ‘I love you. I promise, I’ll bribe the entire Ministry if I have to, to get you out of here.’   
  
At this exact minute, Pansy could care less about getting out of Azkaban. The way she feels, if she were freed, she’d be back inside the next day for murdering Draco fucking Malfoy. All she wants is for him to leave.  
  
‘GET OUT,’ Pansy screams, and Draco should be thanking Merlin she doesn’t have a wand, because the force of her anger without one is nearly enough to kill him.   
  
He leaves, with a few, final protests that she doesn’t listen to, and Pansy falls to the floor, her back against the wall. Her hands fall to her side, and when she feels the damn paper under her left, she grabs it and crumples it into a ball.   
  
But Astoria’s face is still visible in the picture accompanying the article; Pansy can see the bitch turning towards Draco, and his arm slithering round her neck. She watches the disgusting image replay over and over before throwing the balled-up paper across the room.   
  
Of course the ball lands with the picture facing her, and the tears start to come as Pansy buries her head in her arms. She hates herself for giving in so easily to him, letting him have her body like its currency.   
  
But most of all she hates herself for being fooled by Draco Malfoy, and for thinking that he  _loved_  her.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written in January 2011.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://galacticcoyote.tumblr.com/)


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